


When You Came In, the Air Went Out

by aeriamamaduck



Series: TES AUs [3]
Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Blood, Blood Drinking, F/M, Fairies, Hypnotism, Mentioned-Biphobia, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Past-Dubious Consent, Restaurants, Shifters, Supernatural Elements, Telepathy, True Blood AU, Universe Alteration
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 03:36:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8430313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeriamamaduck/pseuds/aeriamamaduck
Summary: Martin Septim, Vampire Sheriff of County Kvatch, has mainstreamed ever since vampires came out of the coffin. He and his progeny have kept out of his maker's sight for three decades and "life" seems normal until a relative comes calling.A mix of the Elder Scrolls and True Blood universes.





	

The synthetic blood tastes terrible going down, like something gone stale, but Martin endures it for the sake of satisfying his thirst in a way that doesn’t involve sinking his teeth into a human’s soft flesh. 

_Don’t think about that. Not here. There are whole families here eating dinner. You don’t want to hurt any of them, Martin._

Someone appears to have paid for about two straight hours of _Take My Breath Away_ on the jukebox, the tune becoming tiresome on the fifth repetition.

A warm earthy scent, pleasant and familiar, draws Martin’s attention and he looks up to see Hilde walking past the bar with a tray filled with beer. Her smile is a weary one yet she is still lovely to gaze at, kind and maternal, save for when customers got too rowdy or pawed at her. Or at least _tried_ to paw at her.

“Another bottle, Mart?”

He turns to find Hilde’s husband Helvedur in front of him, glancing at his nearly-drained bottle of Tru Blood. Martin shakes his head with a wave of his hand. “Thank you, Helvedur, but I think one bottle’s enough for the evening.”

The big man gives him a look of sympathy, one Martin manages to appreciate after so many years. Shifters and weres have always been wary of vampires, if not outright hostile, but somehow the big man considers Martin a friend. The feeling is mutual. “It’s too bad they can’t flavor that shit like they do with children’s medicine.”

“Maybe they will.” _If enough vampires decide mainstreaming isn’t worth having to live on this swill,_ he thinks darkly. Still, the thought of grape-flavored Tru Blood _was_ a bit amusing, though based on what he heard about cough medicine he doubted it would actually taste like the fruit he remembered would burst so sweetly when bitten into. _Much like a human’s skin._ He closes his eyes, irritated at himself for following that line of thought. _Ten years_ , he thinks. _Ten years and I haven’t even touched a human. Not even a Fangbanger. Keep it the fuck up, Martin._

It’s sad, he thinks, how easily humans can be swayed by the romantic notions of becoming a vampire’s blood bag. He feels a familiar twinge of guilt at the thought, reminding himself that he’d done the same for decades, and the last time he had done so he’d ended up becoming a Maker for the first time.

The front doors open and Martin already knows who it is. Still he turns just for the familiar sight of quite possibly the most important person in his life.

Dion Saturnius. Eternally twenty years old and sinfully gorgeous, his messy hair black as coal, his eyes green as lily pads, and his skin that somehow managed to hold some golden luminescence amidst vampiric pallor. He’s got a dark red t-shirt on and a pair of black jeans that look painted on the way they cling to his shapely legs, and all of it perfectly brings out the verdant brightness of his green eyes.

He is perfect, the best kind of bait to lure an unsuspecting human.

Martin can never avoid the mixture of fondness and consuming guilt that swirls in his dead heart when Dion is around, even if he mostly senses contentment from his Progeny through their bond.

Dion had been an exceptionally beautiful human male, eager and determined in spite of getting drained half to death most nights. Martin remembers meeting the skinny eighteen-year-old runaway in a dark and lonely alley in 1986 San Francisco, already reduced to homelessness after merely five days in an unfamiliar city. Having determined that he was attracted to both women and men, he’d escaped from his conservative parents after catching wind of their plans to put him through correction therapy and stole what money he could to get out of that small town to what he’d assumed would be friendlier waters.

Some would say he’d been lucky Martin had found him, but he knew otherwise.

Glamouring a tired and hungry youth into following him to his apartment had been child’s play, but Dion had been happy enough to stay once he had ready access to food, a bed, and running water. Martin didn’t even need to glamour him to seduce him, and Dion followed him around like a puppy for the rest of his human life, which only lasted another two years, during which he was Martin’s main source of blood. Dion was so painfully loyal to him he hadn’t needed to threaten the boy into keeping his condition a secret. Looking back it disgusts Martin how he made damn sure he was everything Dion thought he needed. How manipulative of him.

Then came the night Sam Guevene let himself into Martin’s apartment and had Dion completely glamoured into complacency, his neck and arm bared for Martin’s maker to drain him completely. Martin, enraged, tore Dion away and declared that he’d planned on turning the boy.

Sam made sure he followed through after two nights that Martin preferred to forget and hoped Dion did too, even if he never quite got the change to glamour the memories out of the young man.

Martin remembered holding Dion, feeling Dion’s hand clutching his wrist with so much _trust_ even as Martin stared at his neck, finding the most recent bite mark. It was one of many that littered his body, and soon they would all disappear for good.

He looked into those green eyes and saw himself, saw what other humans had feared right before they died in his arms to sustain _him_ , some relic from the Civil War who had lived far too long. Still, he knew better than anyone what would happen to Dion if Sam got his hands on him again, and drained his blood before replacing it with his own.

Sam dug the hole himself, Martin choking back bloody tears as he held Dion’s pale body in his arms. He held him close and buried his nose in the soft hair he loved to touch, ignoring Sam’s little mocking wave right before he buried them completely. Twenty-four hours later Martin had a very hungry babyvamp on his hands.

Said babyvamp makes his way to his booth with a graceful plop, and Martin feels his gaze drawn to those magnetic green orbs that hold only the purest sense of love and friendship for him. “You look like shit, my friend.”

Martin tuts disapprovingly. “ _Language_ , Dion. Didn’t I teach you anything?” Dion’s voice doesn’t carry, so to speak, but Martin still retains some of his old habits. “I’m fine. It’s just a little difficult to sit around so much…”

“Food?” Dion finishes with a smirk and raised eyebrow. “You’d think after ten years of mainstreaming, you’d be used to it.”

“Yes, ten years. That’s easy enough for a vampire that’s pushing fifty,” Martin says flatly as he spins the bottlecap on the table surface. “It’s not so easy for a two-century-old vampire. And people wonder why mainstreaming isn’t going so well… 

Dion clicks his tongue, though Martin easily finds understanding in his gaze. “Touchy, aren’t we? Okay, we’ll change the subject!” he says cheerfully, fingers beating out a drumroll on the table. “Ready to find out what I’ve been up to these past few weeks?”

“I can barely contain my excitement. You should hear my heart, it’s racing,” Martin replies stonily, beginning to get a little irritated by the noise. Still, it’s an improvement from the sounds of Berlin _still_ playing. He’s tempted to destroy the jukebox altogether.

Dion gets the message, pouting as he lays his hands flat and quiet. “You’re hilarious.” Then his smile returns, bright and excited. “So…I managed to track down my family!”

Martin’s eyebrows rise in surprise. “Wait… _seriously?”_ He didn’t know Dion had any interest in finding his birth family, assuming his circumstances had been awful enough to keep him from wanting to meet his intolerant parents again.

Dion, however, seems elated by the development, a far cry from the youth who had expressed his hatred of his parents when Martin took him in. “Yeah, it turns out there’s other Saturnii in the world! I have an uncle, an aunt, _and_ a cousin.”

It isn’t his parents, at least. Martin doesn’t even want to picture what Dion could be tempted to do if he ever met his parents face to face. “Did you get in touch with them?” he asks, old instincts rising up. He doesn’t want to see his progeny in trouble, nor does he want to put a human in danger.

Dion nods enthusiastically. “I started off with my cousin, and man did I have the right idea. Apparently disowning your kids runs in the family.” He taps on his phone for a moment and hands it to Martin. “There’s a picture.”

He almost tells Dion that he just handed him a photo of himself but upon closer inspection he realizes that it’s really not Dion he’s looking at. No, for one thing the person in the photograph is female, and a human at that. He remembers finding Dion the first time and the face in the photo looks nearly identical, down to the eye color. She is undeniably beautiful. “…She looks just like you.”

Dion gives him a prideful nod, as if they were speaking of his own child. “Damn right she does. Her name’s Minerva. She’s twenty-three, just graduated with a bachelor’s in political science. Oh, and she’s got the body of a cage fighter, and she’s coming over in a few minutes.”

If Martin were still drinking his Tru Blood he would have spat it all over Hilde’s table in shock. He stares at Dion in utter disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me, you _invited_ a human to come and visit you, a _vampire_ , and she said yes?” He wonders if the girl with the cage fighter’s body has _any_ survival instinct.

“Her roommate’s a werewolf, and she’s bringing him along,” Dion says, as if it were the most normal thing to just invite strangers to one’s town and assume everything would go swimmingly.

Martin has to shake his head at it, even if relations between vampires and other supernaturals have improved in the decade since the Great Revelation. “You have a death wish. There is no doubt about it.” He begins to get up, taking out his wallet to pay for his drink. He’s not at all sure if he wants to remain, or if Dion wants him around for this.

Dion places a restraining hand around his wrist, still cool and gentle as when he was a human. “Stay. You’re family too.” The sincerity of it shines in his eyes and Martin can’t resist it. He _did_ make himself Dion’s family the moment he Turned him. He sits back down, still tense and somewhat disagreeable. He wonders how the human will react towards the vampire that essentially killed her cousin. Then again when he does the math in his head he realizes that the girl hadn’t even been born yet. Judging by the family’s attitude, perhaps she hadn’t even known he even _had_ a runaway cousin.

A short while later the door jingles open and in flows a scent that has Dion and Martin focusing all of their attention toward it, their senses seized by the scent that has Martin feeling like a newborn. He realizes it’s coming from the human who looks like Dion’s twin, standing at the door and looking around the restaurant. Her resemblance to Dion is much more pronounced in person, but if Dion’s eyes are the green of lily pads, Minerva’s are the green of the leaves of a great tree capturing the sunlight at the height of summer. Her black hair is neater than Dion’s, hanging loosely over her shoulders. A pine green t-shirt hugs her curves and the pronounced muscles of her arms, yet another difference between her and Dion, his form longer and lankier.

Minerva’s gaze falls on them, and it looks as if she freezes on the spot upon seeing Dion. Martin forces himself to relax, to look less like a predator that’s just spotted a lone rabbit. Dion does the same and gets up with a boyish smile to meet Minerva as she walks over, and Martin notices the broad, dark-haired were flanking Minerva. His golden eyes narrow at Dion’s approach and Martin hears him whisper to Minerva, “Told you they’d notice.”

 _Notice what? The best scent I’ve smelled in two centuries?_ God, it was like someone had found a way to bottle sunlight and sell it as high-end perfume. Martin gets up too, remembering he’s a gentleman, and tries to keep his thirst under control. He focuses instead on Minerva’s remarkable features, holding their own unique warmth that differs from Dion’s allure. He focuses on the werewolf’s soft growl as Dion wraps a surprised Minerva in his arms, hugging her warmly. Minerva’s eyes grow round with surprise, her body tensing momentarily before she returns the hug, a genuine smile gracing her face as she buries her face in Dion’s neck.

When they part she exclaims breathlessly in a sweet voice, “I never thought I’d meet anyone from…”

Dion chuckles, his hand still touching her forearm, and finishes for her, “Never say never when there’s the internet.” Martin stays where he is, observing the minute flare of his progeny’s nostrils as they take in Minerva’s unusual scent, but as he’s told Dion before, the younger vampire has had more time to get used to not seeing humans merely as bloodbags, and he certainly does not want to harm an innocent member of his family.

Minerva reaches back to bring her friend closer and introduces him, “This is my best friend, Garrett Hawke.” She stands close to the werewolf, obviously comfortable around him.

Dion’s eyes dilate with a very different kind of interest as he shakes the werewolf’s hand and greets in warm, honeyed tones, “Very pleased to meet you, Garrett.”

Martin almost wants to laugh at how Dion can go from puppy to hound in less than a second, but Garrett’s eyes narrow further still. “Same. And I have a boyfriend at home, so don’t even bother,” he says warningly.

Minerva elbows Garrett in the side, an abashed look on her face, but Dion only laughs and gives an elegant shrug. “Worth a shot.” He waves them toward the table Martin is still standing beside. “Come on, sit down! How long have you been driving?”

Her gaze now falling on him, slightly scrutinizing, Minerva answers as she slides into the booth, “A few hours. Gare and I switched.” Garrett sits beside her, still frowning at Dion and at Martin. He almost wants to calm him by indicating just how many humans surround them, all of them obviously unharmed.

“Hilde’ll come over soon,” Dion says before clapping a hand on Martin’s shoulder. “This is my Maker _and_ the County Sheriff, Martin.”

He says it as though he were introducing his roommate, or something just as mundane. It’s Garrett who asks, almost accusingly, “So you’re the one who turned him?”

Martin nods, accepting the silent accusation. _You’re the one who killed him and took his humanity away. You’re the one who made him a monster._ He smiles as graciously as he can, not wanting to ruin this for Dion. “Yes, I am. It’s a pleasure to meet you both. I hope Kvatch is to your liking.”

The younger vampire cuts in with, “Pardon the old-timey language, but he’s been around since Lincoln was alive.”

The frown on Garrett’s face disappears and he asks, fascination in his eyes, “Really?”

Funny how Lincoln always turned out to be the right icebreaker. “Yes, really.”

Hilde arrives to take the newcomers’ orders, her eyes widening comically at seeing Dion and Minerva sitting across from each other. “Well! Don’t you two look like two peas in a pod? I didn’t know you had a sister, Dee!”

“She’s my cousin, actually,” Dion explains, giving Minerva a fond smile. “Minerva, this is Hilde, the toughest and prettiest waitress in Kvatch. That giant back there in the kitchen is her husband, Helvedur. Hild, these are my cousin Minerva and her roommate, Garrett.”

“It’s nice to meet, you, sweetheart.” She gives Garrett a curious sniff and looks at him a little more carefully, realization dawning in her. “Werewolf, huh?”

Garrett’s eyes grow sharper as he looks at Hilde, giving her a small nod. “Shifter,” he states, and Hilde’s nod is a little challenging. “What do you like to run as?”

Hilde gives him a grin. Garrett must smell fine to her. “Collie. Well I hope you two have a good time here. I’ll be back with your food in a little bit.”

After eating two young people relate how exactly they are related. It turns out Minerva’s alcoholic paternal grandmother had siblings who turned out to be Dion’s grandparents. Minerva’s father had ended up in the foster care system as a toddler and hadn’t known any members of his family, and none came to claim him. Martin wonders how two warm and kind people could have come from such a cold family.

He observes them, seeing in Minerva the future Dion might have had if things were different. If he’d stood a chance in San Francisco and never caught Martin’s eye. If Sam had never come into their lives. He realizes Dion has grasped onto Minerva like a lifeline, desperate for any form of acceptance from his birth family, even if it is just one person.

Soon enough they manage to make Garrett relax, and he joins the conversation. Martin lets them have their fun, giving a contented Dion a smile every time he looked at him. Mayhaps he is not as vocal as Garrett, but Martin can still give his progeny some manner of support.

Still, he is curious, and asks Minerva, “So how did Dion tell you that he just so happened to be a vampire, if I may ask?”

He watches her eyes widen as he addresses her, knowing the effect his gaze has on humans. He’d spent the better part of a hundred years cultivating a presence powerful enough to cajole humans into practically laying on a slab for him without the need to glamour them, and he’d prided himself on it. He’s tried to unlearn that behavior after Dion, and he hopes he managed to look _friendly_ at least, and not like a predator.

Minerva gives him a smile and replies, “You may. He just told me outright. Said he wouldn’t blame me if I decided not to meet him.”

Dion elbows Martin. “Because I am a gentleman,” he teases, clearly remembering all of the years when Martin tried to make his upbringing rub off on the young vampire.

“But I decided to give him a shot,” Minerva adds with a grin and a shrug. “I like him so far.”

Garrett then turns to Dion and asks, suddenly serious, “I know you two were talking about Minerva moving here, but do you two really think that’s a good idea?”

“Gare!” Minerva exclaims, looking irritated. Martin gapes at Dion, not having had any idea that this was part of the plan. He and Dion have not shared the same dwelling in years, but in this sort of situation there would be no buffer between Dion and Minerva if things went south.

Dion nods in understanding. “I get it. I’d be suspicious too if a vampire decided to ask my human friend to move in, but Minerva here’s the only family I’ve got left, and I’m not gonna do anything to screw that up.” He takes a short drink of the Tru Blood he’d ordered without so much as a grimace, and Martin is jealous. “I’ve been mainstreaming since the Great Revelation, and it’s been a breeze.”

Minerva turns to Garrett and tells him, gentle yet firm, “I just want to get away from my parents, Gare. I’m still a little too close for comfort right now, and I want you and Fen to have the place to yourselves for once, you know?”

Garrett still looks reluctant, but Martin can hear his defeat in his sigh. “Alright, alright. But you still have a home with us if you ever need it, okay?”

“Okay,” Minerva says with her brightest smile yet, and Martin supposes it’s the closest he’ll ever get to feeling the sun again.

Minerva blows out a breath with a thoughtful look on her face. “I guess I ought to start looking for a job.”

“I’ll help you with that,” Dion says, and suddenly calls out towards the kitchen, “Hey, Helvy!”

The big man peeks his head out and shouts back, “What?!”

“My cousin here wants a job! You still need another cook?”

“She a supe?”

“She’s human, Helvy.”

Helvedur gives Minerva a sharp look. “You twenty-one?”

Minerva stares for a moment before remembering to answer. “Twenty-three.”

Helvedur gives a single nod. “She’s hired.”

Dion smirks like he’s just won an Oscar. “Problem solved.”

Martin can’t avoid the laugh that escapes him. “You’re a regular miracle worker, Dion.”

Minerva looks like she’s about to burst from excitement until a certain song starts to play _again_ and she groans, covering her ears. “Are there _seriously_ no other songs on this jukebox?”


End file.
